


Innocent

by jellymankelly



Series: Innocent Series [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellymankelly/pseuds/jellymankelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time you meet her, you're not exactly at your best. In fact, this particular moment in time probably ranks somewhere in your top three worst days ever. Like, ever ever."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time you meet her, you're not exactly at your best. In fact, this particular moment in time probably ranks somewhere in your top three worst days ever. Like,  _ever_  ever. You're mad and embarrassed and pretty sure your lip is split from where some jerk elbowed you as you were trying to leave the party, which is just great- and now you've been arrested. Or you are being arrested. Whatever. You don't even know whose house you're at, just that what was supposed to be a small gathering somehow turned into a huge party-slash-fight thing that you really didn't want to be a part of.

Your shoulders ache from being pulled behind you in an unnatural position and it only serves to fuel your frustration. You're a  _dancer_ , for goodness' sake; you've woken up with your limbs twisted in far more awkward positions than they're in right now, knees against your chest, knuckles scraping against the sidewalk under your backside. The red and blue flashes have synced up with the pounding in your head, or maybe your headache is matching the rhythm of the pulsing lights, but either way it really  _hurts._  You've been sitting here for what feels like hours, and you're pretty sure you're the only one left here who was actually still in the house when the police arrived.

You shiver in the cold air and wish that you'd gone with your skinny jeans and v-neck sweater like you'd originally planned. Of course, when you'd picked out your outfit for tonight, you couldn't have known that you'd end up sitting on the curb at one am in the morning, shaking in your cut-offs and sparkly 'What the duck?' t-shirt. At least your heels are only three inches instead of the five inch stilettos you'd first picked out.

An officer approaches you quietly, squatting in the gutter where you sit on the curb and you sneak a couple glances at her out of the corner of your eye. Her raven hair is pulled into a severe knot at the base of her skull, and her cap sits with military precision over her eyes. She looks you over consideringly, like she's trying to decide what to do with you.

When she asks you politely, far more politely than she probably has to, to please stand and come with her, you shake your head and ignore her. It's rude and childish, you know, but you're tired and sore and still so mad about this whole miserable excuse for a Friday night, you just want to go home and forget it all.

A hand fists your collar and jerks you roughly to your feet, causing you to yelp in surprise, then gurgle when your shirt tightens against your windpipe. The same hand then smashes you against the side of a police car and you see stars when your head collides with the door.

"Hudson! What the actual fuck?! Jesus, she's not a fucking rabid dog. She wasn't even resisting."

"She's a criminal, Lopez. Only one way to treat criminals."

"You fu-  _Officer_  Hudson. Just because she was here when you arrived on scene doesn't mean she's  _guilty._  Just...go canvas or something, Christ."

"But this is my arrest."

"I  _got this_ , Hudson. Just go."

"Fine. Whatever."

The hand, Officer Hudson's you guess, disappears from between your shoulder blades. You turn your head just in time to see a tall, round faced man in uniform trundle off. A light touch at your elbow draws your attention down to your shoulder where the first officer is standing now. If you weren't just shoved up against a police car with a raging headache and a now-sore throat, you'd probably think it was really cute how she manages to be so impressive even though the top of her head only reaches as high as your nose. As it is, you're just dizzy and even madder than before.

"Are you alright?"

Her voice is soft now, unlike the sharp tone she used with her fellow officer. Despite the kindness you jerk your arm away, pressing yourself further into the car.

"Don't touch me."

The words come out of you in a hiss, and you're a little shocked at the venom they hold. You don't know why you did that. The officer snaps her hand back as if expecting you to bite her, and something like hurt flickers across her face before she schools it into an impassive mask. Your tummy roils a little and you can't quite tell if it's guilt or the bad Mexican food from earlier that's making it stir.

"Fine. I'm just doing my job."

She peels you off the car and opens the back passenger door, jerking her chin to get you moving. Her voice is low and strained when she reads you your rights. As you clamber awkwardly in, her hand cups the back of your head to usher it under the frame, and the gentleness of her touch only makes your tummy lurch harder. Definitely guilt.

By the time the car pulls into the police station, all the fight has drained from your body, and with it went the last of your energy. You stumble your way through the booking process numbly, speaking only when someone asks you a question, and allowing the booking officer to manipulate your hand like a puppet master when he takes your prints.

After your picture is taken - an experience that leaves you feeling slightly violated in this cold and unfriendly place - you're pressed back into cuffs and shoved into your arresting officer's arms. You trip over your own feet and crash against her. When she catches and steadies you, you lift your eyes to apologize and thank her. You meet dark eyes and are struck dumb by the unexpected beauty of them. You're not sure how long you stare at her, but you think it's probably longer than is entirely usual. Not that you're one for being usual in the first place, but still.

Her gaze, which was soft when it first met yours, hardens again. You're not sure what you did to upset her this time, but it makes your head droop to your chest. You just want this awful night to be over.

She takes your arm just above your elbow and steers you down a hallway lined with cells. She stops at one in the middle and begins to unlock the door. Somewhere behind you, someone makes an obscene noise. You glance over your shoulder to see a man sporting a mohawk and wearing a dirty wife beater and loose black shorts staring at you hungrily. He makes the noise again and flicks his tongue at you, and you can't help the shudder that runs down your spine.

You fight the tears that sting your eyes and jerk your head forward again. You're pretty sure crying won't make anything better. The only thing you know for sure about prison is not to drop the soap, although that seems like something you should try not to do no matter where you are, so you're not sure why prison is so special. Besides which, you don't think they even  _have_  soap in these cells.

The sound of the cell door clanging shut again draws your attention. The policewoman - Lopez, you think the other officers called her - tugs your arm again and walks you further down the hallway. You watch her cautiously, unsure of what's happening. Is she not going to put you in jail? Does she have to interrogate you first? Because you don't know much about anything really, except for dancing and maybe cat diseases, but you don't think she'll be very interested in either of those. She stops at the last cell and unlocks it, then unlocks your cuffs as well. You rub your wrists absentmindedly and step into the cell. It's empty, and there's at least three cells between you and Mohawk Man now. You whip your gaze back to Officer Lopez and she shrugs neutrally.

"Puckerman is a fuckin' animal. You don't need that shit."

She slams the door shut, spins on her heel, and stalks away without another word. When she reaches Mohawk Man's cell, he reaches out and taps her backside as she passes. Faster than lightning she grabs his wrist and yanks it towards her viciously. His forehead smacks against the bars with a hollow clang. As he sprawls back onto the floor of the cell with a groan, she leans in and speaks to him with a poisonously sweet voice.

"Try that again and I'll rip that dead ferret right off your head, you lowlife."

Her gaze flickers back to you once, and then she's back through door leading out into the station. With a heavy sigh, you let yourself collapse on the bench bolted into the back wall. You close your eyes and do your best to block out the low moans emanating from a few yards away. You don't like violence, but he kind of deserved that.

You jerk suddenly when the door to your cell is dragged open again. You must have fallen asleep without realizing it. A round man with beady eyes and a uniform that looks a size too small points a stubby finger at you. Another officer, a tiny woman with a too-bright smile stands just behind him, clutching a clipboard to her chest. You don't like her smile. It looks fake. And mean. And just a little bit scary.

"You. Up. Now. Let's go."

You lurch to your feet and turn your back on the man when he holds up a pair of handcuffs. You want to tell him they're not necessary, you have every intention of cooperating, but his expression tells you it won't make a difference. He looks at you the way your cat does anytime you try to put him on a diet. It's not a pleasant expression, on either creature.

He grabs you roughly by the arm and half-pushes, half-pulls you down the hall. The tiny officer trails behind you, still smiling with too many teeth. She kind of looks like a really pretty shark, but pretty or not sharks are dangerous so you don't like that she's walking behind you where you can't see her. You nearly trip again when fat officer stops suddenly in front of the cell Officer Lopez had originally intended to put you in. He fumbles with the keys at his belt until he finds the right one, and unlocks the door. Mohawk Man is back to staring at you, and it makes your tummy clench once more, this time in fear.

Just as the overweight officer is about to shove you in, a familiar voice rasps down the hallway.

"Sir? What's going on?"

The man's beefy hand stops where it's pressed against your shoulder as he looks down the hall.

"Lopez. Why the hell was your arrest all the way down at the other end of the holding block?"

Her chin jerks up and you can see her jaw clench as she approaches, swift and deadly.

"Puckerman was harassing her. It seemed prudent to remove her from possible conflict."

Her words are sharp and precise, as if she's biting each one off individually. A wheedling voice pipes in behind you.

"That's hardly protocol, Officer Lopez. We must all do-"

"Can it, dwarf. Go tattle on someone else for a change."

The tiny officer brushes past with a huff, and you note that she's only about an inch shorter than Lopez. You bite your lip to hide your smile. Now is hardly the time. Just as she reaches the door, she turns her head over her shoulder.

"No matter how beautiful the woman is, I would have expected an officer of your standing to act with more professionalism. Regardless of your...proclivities."

You watch the color drain from Lopez' face until her skin looks ghostly under its natural olive complexion. She catches you watching her and immediately breaks eye-contact, but not before you see the sadness and fear flit across her face. Then her eyes turn black with rage and the sight makes you swallow and drop your own your eyes. She whips around to face the retreating form of the other woman, fists clenched at her sides.

"Lopez," the man barks.

Her eyes flash dangerously when she turns back, but she snaps to attention anyway. You're kind of impressed in spite of yourself. You know you wouldn't be able to be that professional if you ever got as angry as she is right now.

"Lieutenant."

"Officer Berry is right. We have protocols for this kind of thing. I don't care what kind of feminist crap your dyke sensibilities are feeding you, you follow that protocol, or you answer to me. We clear on that?"

You watch her from beneath your lashes as she seems to battle within herself. You've never seen any person look so tense and so angry in your whole life, and it's breathtaking, in a terrifying sort of way. You glare at the Lieutenant and his rude words as discreetly as you can. Why would he be so nasty to her when she was only trying to be kind? Besides, you're fairly certain that  _that_  word is a word only bullies use, and police officers are supposed to stop bullies, not  _be_  bullies.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so low you have to strain to hear it, but even her quietness doesn't hide the cold fury in her tone.

"Lieutenant, I-"

"I don't want to hear it, Lopez."

His sharp push takes you by surprise and you drop heavily to your knees with a small cry. Thick hands grab at your wrists and the jerky motion wrenches your right shoulder painfully, tearing another choked sob from your throat. You let out a tiny gasp of relief when the cuffs are removed, and immediately rub at your tortured joint. He's totally a bully.

Just as the cell door begins to slide shut behind you, a shout sounds through the hall.

"Wait, Lieutenant Tanaka!"

Officer Shark Smile is back. You turn just in time to see her approach the Lieutenant, making sure to keep as much space between herself and the glowering Officer Lopez as humanly possible. You kind of wish she would do the same thing to Officer Shark Smile that she did to Mohawk Man, except then she'd probably get in trouble for hurting a coworker, so maybe not. The tiny officer whispers something to Lieutenant Bully, casting a sidelong glance at Lopez as she does. Lieutenant Bully glares at Officer Shark Smile irritatedly once she's finished.

"Who the hell is Brittany S. Pierce and why the hell do I care if she's innocent?"

She nods once at you and for the first time tonight you feel your heart lift as something like hope fills you.

"Well why the hell is she here in the first place?"

Lopez steps closer, drawing the Lieutenant's attention. Officer Shark Smile automatically takes a step back, and you duck your head to hide your smile.

"She was at the scene of that domestic disturbance call we answered earlier this evening, sir. She was brought in with the other three who were booked tonight."

"Well if she wasn't a part of it, why the hell is she  _here?_ "

"Your orders, sir. You told the responding officers to bring in everyone involved. Hudson pulled her out of the house where the party was happening and cuffed her. He- he decided to canvas the neighborhood for witnesses, so I brought her in. The rest you know. Sir."

Her words are completely professional, but even you can hear the disdain dripping from every syllable. Again, you're impressed with just how much emotion she can express using so very little.

Lieutenant Bully growls under his breath.

"Fine. Get her out of here. I don't have time for this crap, I'll be in my office."

He passes his ring of keys to Lopez and stomps off. Officer Shark Smile cowers behind her clipboard, seemingly frozen in place. She squeaks when Lopez makes to lunge at her, and tears down the hallway after the Lieutenant. Lopez chuckles lowly and pulls the door the rest of the way back open.

Her eyes meet yours and for a second they're kind and warm and remind you of melted chocolate. For a minute you think about naming her Lovely Lopez in your head. Then suddenly her expression changes and stiffens. She squares her shoulders resolutely and thrusts out a hand to you. You take it and pull yourself up, a small part of your mind marveling at how smooth and soft her skin is.

She walks you back to the front of the station and rattles off a series of letters and numbers to the officer behind the window. He steps away from the glass and returns a few moments later with a plastic baggie full of your belongings - your keys, your cell phone, your wallet, and your hoop earrings. You pocket everything and turn to woman beside you, intending to thank her for her earlier kindness. You feel bad that she was given such a hard time just for being nice to you.

You open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can get anything out. Her face is still stiff, but her eyes are full of anger, hurt, and...fear, again. You wonder what she could possibly have to fear from you.

"Save it. Just...just stay away from places like that from now on, okay? You don't belong in a place like that. Or like this, for that matter."

She turns smartly and disappears behind the booking station before you have time to do more than blink.

You step outside and take a deep breath in the cool night air. You tug your cell phone out of your pocket and call Quinn. She of course freaks when she hears where you want her to pick you up from, but agrees immediately.

You hang up and drop down onto the bench just beside the station house door to wait for her to arrive. You go over the events of the night and vow to  _never_  accept an invite to any 'little shindigs' from Sugar Motta again, no matter how pink and sparkly the card may be. She's very nice and all, but it's just not worth the pain and embarrassment. Plus there were so many people crammed into the house, you hardly had any room to dance. Lame.

Your mind drifts back to Officer Lopez and her dark, mysterious eyes. You've never seen anyone display such a vast array of strong emotions in such a short period of time. You think that must be why they look like they're lit from within. Passionate people live life like they're on fire, fast and bright and hot. You're sad when you think of how that fire seemed to go dim in the face of her fellow officers and their mean words. You wonder how someone can be so kind and so angry at the same time. It must feel like an endless fight, and you can't help but hope that the kind always wins out. Someone who's that nice to a total stranger - one that they're arresting, no less - shouldn't have to fight so much.

Quinn pulls up to the station and honks for you, pulling you from your thoughts. You shake your head to clear it and walk up to the car. Just before you get in, you cast one last glance behind you, just in case she's reappeared again, and sigh disappointedly when she's still nowhere to be seen.

You know next to nothing about her, and yet...

You make a silent wish that maybe someday you'll meet her again, under better circumstances.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time you meet her, the circumstances are definitely different. Better? Maybe not so much.

You're at a club with Quinn, for the first time in what seems like forever. Quinn is awesome, you'll be the first to say that, but she has a hard time breaking out of her own shell. That's where you come in. You've never had trouble meeting new people, though you do have a tough time hanging on to them. Quinn always says it's because you're very fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants and people tend to read that as flaky. You tell her it's probably because they think it's silly to fly by your bottom, because you certainly do. She just looks at you like she's not quite sure if you're serious or not and usually changes the subject. You think that's your real problem - you have a strange sense of humor that most people take far too seriously. So of course they think you're weird - or in a few extreme cases, stupid - and that's generally that. It doesn't help that you have a bad habit of mixing up your words a lot, which only leads to further confusion.

You shrug off your mopey thoughts just in time to catch the drinks the bartender slides your way. You give him a flirty wink, at which he shakes his head with a laugh. Sam is awesome, and he makes the best drinks ever. You actually met him in a belly-dancing class you took a couple years ago just for fun. He was the only guy in the class, but he fit right in with his easy-going smile and quiet good humor. When you asked him why he was taking the class, he told you he was looking for new moves for his job. Jokingly you asked if he was a stripper, but he surprised you by answering with a simple 'yup.'

After that you were sure to pick a spot next to him in every class so you could offer your own expertise. You don't know much about stripping, admittedly, but after seeing him at work a couple times you were able to get a sort of feel for what he wanted and helped him out. Turns out stripping is like really slow hip-hop plus clothing removal. Although the belly dancing class totally helped with his body rolls.

To help him celebrate finishing the class, you had dragged Quinn down to see him dance and even bought her a lap dance too. Sam was great but Quinn was red as a cherry the whole time. The three of you have been friends ever since.

Now Sam works here, at HiDef, and while he still dances sometimes behind the bar, he doesn't really strip anymore. Sometimes you wonder if he misses it a little, because more often than not he still manages to finish a shift wearing less clothes than he started with. You glance back to see that the t-shirt he was wearing just a few minutes ago under his open vest is gone, although the vest itself is still in place. You make a mental note to have Quinn get the next round of drinks. Sam's abs are in fine form tonight, and you're pretty sure Quinn will appreciate them more than you will.

Ducking and weaving through the pulsating crowds, you worm your way back to the tiny sliver of couch you and Quinn managed to claim when you first arrived. Normally, you'd be out on the floor, dancing with whoever happened to catch your fancy, but Quinn's not so comfortable with the dancing with strangers thing, so the couch it is.

Upon reaching her, you immediately notice that she looks unhappy. Her body is doing that thing where it gets all stiff and still, but her eyes are flashing like they might shoot lasers or something. There's a tall, lanky guy with glasses sitting in your seat, leaning in to speak with her. In any other circumstances, you'd be pleased that someone is paying attention to your beautiful friend, but it's clear that she doesn't want him there. He's just not taking the hint.

Squaring your shoulders, you march the rest of the way over to the couch. When you reach them, you very carefully pretend to trip, and manage to upend  _both_ of your drinks on the guy. Pretending you're far more drunk than you really are, you apologize sloppily and throw a sneaky wink in Quinn's direction when she catches your eye. You can practically  _hear_ her eyes rolling, but she's stifling a smile too.

The guy stands and pushes you off him with a muttered curse. You think you hear the word 'stupid' in there somewhere, and it makes you flinch a little, but when you notice Quinn still watching you it's easy enough to shrug it off. He says something about going to clean up and leaves without another word.

You grab Quinn's hand and pull her up and close to you so she can hear you.

"C'mon, Q. Let's go get lost on the dance floor before he comes back."

She nods at you.

"You're the best, B. Let's go."

Keeping her hand clasped firmly in yours, you tow her along behind you until you find a spot that's close enough to the bar that getting drinks won't be a hassle, but far enough from the couch that the guy probably won't be able to find you if he comes back to the couch.

You pull Quinn in close, so that her front is pressed against yours. She looks up at you and cocks an eyebrow questioningly. You grin in response and bend your head down to whisper in her ear.

"Just think of it as a really long, really fast hug, Q."

You pull back in time to catch her laughing a little, and it makes your grin widen triumphantly. You love making her laugh; it doesn't happen nearly enough in your opinion.

Every once and awhile as you bump and slide and shimmy against your friend, something on the dance floor will catch your eye. A flicker of glossy midnight hair. A streak of rich brown skin. Your heart and tummy clench in unison every time it happens, but you don't let yourself think of what it could mean. Tonight you're here for Quinn. Not some stranger who might look a little bit like a certain cop you can't get off your mind.

You've been dancing and joking around for awhile when Quinn decides she wants the drink you were supposed to bring her. You offer to pay for this round too, since you're the reason she didn't get the last one, but she just shakes her head and smiles. Before she leaves for the bar, you catch her wrist and whisper in her ear again.

"Say 'hi' to Sammy for me, would you?"

You laugh when her face turns bright red, and pat her on the butt as she walks away, ignoring the playful glare she levels in your direction. Once she's out of your sight, you close your eyes and just let yourself move with the pounding rhythm of the music. Sometimes you like to go to clubs alone, just so you can get lost in the music like this. It's almost as therapeutic as spending the day in the dance studio. Dancing, no matter what form it comes in, always sets you at ease.

You spin tightly in place, and when you get back to your original position, you feel hands circle boldly around your waist. You can tell even with your eyes closed that it's not Quinn. For one thing, she would never be so forward, even with you. For another, these hands, and the body they're pressing you into, are sure and steady in their movements. This person knows what they want, and how to get it.

You open your eyes and glance around to see if Quinn is back, and happen to spy her laughing and talking with Sam at the bar. Good. She's happy and you can dance. You close your eyes again and give yourself over to the music and your mystery partner.

They're not as fluid a dancer as you are, but they can and are keeping pace with you, which is good. You're about to turn in place to see who is holding you so confidently when another hand wraps around your wrist and jerks you forward. You stumble a couple steps and are just able to catch yourself from falling into a couple dancing nearby. You turn to see who could have pulled you away like that, and your heart nearly stops.

Officer Lopez,  _your_  Officer Lopez, is standing not two feet from you, glaring at a beautiful woman with coffee dark skin and blonde streaks in her equally dark hair. You stare in silent wonder as Lopez advances on the woman, hands curled into tiny tight fists at her sides. She looks incredible in a tight red t-shirt that only just reaches her waist and loose faded jeans belted in place around her hips, leaving a couple inches of deliciously toned stomach bare. Her hair is down and tumbled in careless curls around her shoulders, and the only thing you can think of is how much you want to reach out and run your fingers through it. When she speaks, her voice is low and steady, but it catches in your ears as if the room is completely silent and sends a shock of thrills through your body like you just stuck your finger in one of those plug outlet things like you did once on a dare when you were a kid.

"Aphasia! What the hell are you doing? I leave to use the restroom for two minutes and you're already dancing with someone else? What the fuck?"

Wrapped up as you are in the unexpected shock of seeing the woman who has been plaguing your thoughts for the past week and a half, it takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up. When it finally does, you almost pass out.

The person - the  _woman_  you were dancing with is supposed to be with Officer Lopez? You glance back and forth between them, trying to figure out just how much trouble you're in. Are they friends? Girlfriends? Oh God, is she  _married?_  You think you might throw up if that's true. Not only would the world's most fascinating woman be completely out of reach for you, but that would mean that you were just dancing with her  _wife._  And not in a friendly, hey nice to meet you way. When you dance, at least in clubs, it almost  _always_ leads to something more, usually because the way you dance gets you halfway there on your own. It's just how you are.

"I got bored. You were taking too long."

Aphasia shrugs carelessly, and immediately you decide you don't like her very much. Who would dance with some random stranger when they had Lopez to dance with? A tiny part of your mind thinks frustratedly that you really need to learn her first name, because calling her Lopez all the time, or even Officer Lopez, is just  _so_  not romantic. Or normal.

"So you decide to dry hump the next pair of legs that caught your fancy? Do you even know this bitch's name?"

You flinch at her harsh tone and even harsher words. Aphasia merely shrugs again, as if she really couldn't care less what your name is. You didn't know she was taken, but suddenly you feel like this is somehow a little bit your fault. Your arms wrap around your torso defensively, and you bite your lip to keep from sniffling. You take a couple steps back, trying to figure out the best way to disappear, since obviously the floor isn't going to open up and swallow you whole the way you want it to.

You're just about to dart away through a break in the crowd when Lopez turns her attention to you, pinning you in place with her glare. For a second, her gaze sweeps over you, like she's sizing you up. You instinctively curl in on yourself a little more. You know she could hurt you if she wanted to, and you don't want to give her a reason. Twenty minutes ago, you would have given anything to be standing face to face with her again, but right now, you would give even more to be anywhere else.

She starts to turn away, then her eyes catch yours and go round. You see shock, recognition, anger, sadness, and finally resignation filter through her expression at lightning speed. Before you can stop yourself, you offer her a sad little wave.

Her lips quirk ever so slightly in one corner, so fast you can't even be sure it happened, and then her eyes are gone from you, back on Aphasia.

"You know what? Fine, dance with her for all I care. Dance with every woman in this fucking club. I'm done. I'm sick of your shit and pretending like this was ever going to work between us. I'm out."

Your jaw drops open and you stare helplessly as Lopez whirls around and brushes past you, slipping effortlessly into the mass of oblivious people still dancing and laughing around you. You glance once at Aphasia, who shrugs a third time and moves deeper into the crowd. She doesn't seem to care that her...whatever they had just ended. You decide you  _really_ don't like her very much  _at all_.

You turn just in time to see Lopez duck out of the club, and the thought of her leaving without you having the chance to say anything  _again_  makes you want to scream, so you quickly follow. The dance floor feels three times as crowded as it did a few minutes ago and it takes what you're sure is hours to get to the door. Your coat is hanging on the end of the rack nearest you at coat check, so you grab it, flinging your number at the bewildered girl behind the counter. You squeeze past the last of the sweaty, packed-in bodies and burst out into the night air, nearly face-planting when your foot catches on something on your way out.

After you've steadied yourself, you look around wildly, desperately searching for your quarry. You almost sigh in relief when you spot her a few yards away, huddled against the cold where she leans against the building. She's staring out at the street, watching the cars go by, her long curly hair haloed by the yellow glow of the lamp above her head. She doesn't look as tense in normal clothes as she did in her uniform, but she doesn't really look relaxed either. You think she looks...drained. Limp, like she can't quite manage to hold herself up at the moment, so she's letting the wall do it for her. She scuffs one sneaker against the other and lets out a long sigh.

You sidle up to her cautiously, not sure what your reception will be. You get about three feet away when she finally notices you, and you can't help but freeze in place as she looks you up and down. When she does nothing more than sigh and turn back to the street, you figure it's safe to approach. You stop when you're about six inches away, and let your left shoulder fall heavily against the concrete wall so that your whole body is facing her, giving her your undivided attention. Your hands are shoved so far into the pockets of your jeans that you're almost afraid they'll be swallowed up, but it's better than keeping them out in the open, where anyone can see how much they're shaking right now.

You let your eyes sweep slowly over the side of her face, absorbing every detail like she's a precious piece of art. As far as you're concerned she is. Her lashes are long and curly and fringe her gorgeous eyes perfectly. Her lips are full and plush and you want so badly to run a finger across them and find out if they're as soft as they look. Another good reason for pockets, you think to yourself wryly. A muscle jumps along her sharp jaw line. She lets you study her silently, barely even blinking under your stare.

"Hi."

You mumble it quietly, still not sure if your presence is welcome, and brace yourself for a response.

She glances up at you briefly from the corner of her eye, and you think you see a tiny smile form for a split second before it's gone again.

"Hey."

Her voice is still low, and it has a subtle rasp to it that gives you goosebumps all up and down your arms. You let the sounds of the traffic fill the space between you again. You're not entirely sure why you're out here, or what exactly it is you wanted to say when you dashed off after her, just that you knew you couldn't let her leave like that. All angry and hurt and sad.

She shivers a little against the wall and hugs herself tighter. Without a second thought you shrug out of your jacket, suddenly very grateful that you stopped to grab it, and hold it out for her to take.

She looks at you again, this time more fully, and opens her mouth to give you what you're certain will be a polite rejection. You cut her off before she can make a sound.

"Please? It'd make me feel better."

Her brow furrows heavily at your words, but she takes the jacket and pulls it on. It's just a little too long for her, and makes her look years younger and even tinier than she already is. It's a little bit adorable, but you figure it's best if you keep that particular thought to yourself.

"Thank you."

She looks at you again, clearly confused that you're thanking her when  _she's_ the one wearing  _your_  jacket.

"You're...welcome."

There go the goosebumps again. You smile widely at her, giggling a little when she rolls her eyes. She huffs in exasperation, but you don't miss the little smile that tugs at her mouth again. You fiddle with your fingers, still a little nervous, before speaking up again.

"I'm really sorry about before. I didn't know, or I wouldn't have uhm, dry humped your girlfriend."

Her head snaps back to face yours and eyes go wide as they dart between your own. You drop your own gaze as you feel your cheeks heat, remembering what she said.

"Uh, yeah. I uhm...it's fine."

You look up at her hopefully from beneath your lashes as she continues to stumble over her words.

"I mean, I know you didn't know. Aphasia is just...she's like that. I know you were innocent in the whole thing. You don't really seem the type to do that."

You're glad that she isn't mad at you, but you still feel a little guilty for being involved at all. You tell her as much, but she waves you off again.

"Don't worry about it."

You nod and watch your fingers twist themselves into knots in front of you.

"And um..I'm uh, I'm sorry too."

You look back up at her in confusion. What could she possibly have to apologize for?

"For calling you a bitch. I was just angry and I don't know, hurt or some shit."

You try to hide your smile at that. It's cute the way she's still trying to be tough, even through an apology.

"It's okay. Like you said, you were angry."

"Yeah, well. Still. It was uncalled for, or whatever."

You touch her arm gently to let her know it's okay, and find yourself marveling yet again at how soft her skin is. She lets out a little gasp at your touch, so you pull back immediately, not wanting to push any boundaries. You watch her carefully and realize she's staring at the place on her harm where your fingers had been, looking surprised but not really mad. Curious about her reaction, you touch her again, fingers grazing the same place as before.

Her nostrils flare as she inhales swiftly through her nose, but again, she doesn't look mad at all. When her eyes meet yours, you let out a gasp of your own. In the faded yellow light, her eyes look black, but you wonder if maybe they wouldn't look black even in broad daylight because there is so much pure want on her face that it's actually making your knees a little weak. You shuffle a little closer, never once breaking contact with her arm or her eyes.

"You deserve better, you know."

You say it casually, as if you're talking about the weather or something equally light and meaningless, but you mean it with everything you are.

"What makes you say that?"

Her voice is rougher now, making your whole body erupt in prickles and more goosebumps. You feel bumps raising on her skin under your fingertips as well.

"You're beautiful and kind and strong. You're a police officer, so I know you're a good person too. Someone that awesome deserves to be with someone who will treat them right. Like they're the best thing in the world."

"You think I'm kind?"

She's whispering now, so you whisper back.

"I really do."

"I'm not though. I'm kind of a bitch, actually."

"Only when people are being mean to you. You were nice to me. Even when I was awful and rude to you, you were sweet and gentle. Even though I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be sweet to people you arrest."

She chuckles and her face lights up in the first real smile you've ever seen on her, and it absolutely takes your breath away. Her eyes crinkle at the corners and her nose scrunches just the tiniest bit, and a deep dimple appears in her left cheek. She has the most beautiful smile you've ever seen in your life.

"Oh wow."

You clap a hand over your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut, wishing with all your strength that you could just disappear right now. That wasn't supposed to be out loud. You can feel your face getting hot. Not the pink-cheeks, I just tripped and someone I like saw me do it kind of hot, but the kind of hot that starts in your cheeks and blooms across your face until your whole face and you neck are flushed and your ears look like slices of tomatoes, they're so red.

She pries your hand gently from your face and cradles it in both of her own, tugging it when she fails to catch your eyes any other way. Face still burning, you slowly lift your head until you've met her gaze again. Her smile is smaller, but still just as beautiful, and now her eyes are laughing too. You feel your knees get even weaker and you're sure they're going to buckle at any moment. If you had any ability to think at all, you would be a little concerned at how unsteady your legs are right now, considering you make your living off of their strength and balance.

She strokes the back of your hand with her thumbs and you let your fingers curl around the tips of hers.

"Thank you. And you really weren't that awful, I promise. I'd be pretty angry if I was wrongfully arrested too. I'm just...I'm sorry you had to see all that."

Her gaze drops, along with her smile, and you know she's talking about Lieutenant Bully's nasty words. You grip her fingers tighter and use your free hand to cup her cheek, willing her to look at you again. You want to tell her to forget those words, to listen to yours instead, but your mind is blank and your voice is gone. So instead, you kiss her.

It's not a rough kiss, or even very deep, but it's the most incredible kiss you think the world has ever known. You pull her thick lower lip gently between yours and soothe the tip of your tongue over it, nearly moaning at the taste of her. At first she seems frozen but then she's nibbling at your top lip, and you're convinced that your wobbly legs are going to give out on you at any moment, so you pull back.

Your heart is pounding like you just got back from your morning five-mile run, and your head is spinning like it hasn't since you were a little kid and kept whipping yourself around on the tire swing in your front yard for hours and hours. You watch her as she stands there, eyes still closed and mouth slightly open, and you can't help but place another kiss on her lips - this time just a tiny peck.

A car honk jolts you both out of your shared moment, and she glances over at the car in irritation. You giggle a little at that, and watch as a slow smile blooms across her features again when she looks back at you.

"Sorry, that's my ride."

"It's okay."

The horn blasts again and she pulls away from you to take a few steps in the car's direction. Suddenly she stops and wheels around to face you again. Wordlessly she walks back, tugging your jacket of as she does. She steps right up close to you until you're backed against the wall and presses the clothing into your hand at the same time as she presses another quick kiss to your lips, swiping her tongue quickly between them and robbing you of every last bit of breath. She murmurs another thank you against your mouth before turning and jumping into the car.

You watch dazedly as the tail lights merge into the sea of traffic on the busy street, still unable to pull your mind together into any kind of normal activity. When at last you do, you groan loudly and smack yourself in the forehead. You forgot to get her name. Or her number. Or  _anything._  Except for the kisses, which you will treasure forever, you're certain. You hug your jacket to your chest and sigh heavily. When you breath back in, something pricks at the edges of your senses. You lift the jacket to your nose and inhale into the material. Another groan escapes you, but this time not in exasperation. Your jacket smells like her. Like cinnamon and coconut and something darker and heavy, maybe cologne, and it's heaven.

Keeping the jacket close to your face, you start to head back into the club. You need to find Quinn, and then possibly alcohol, and then you need to make a plan. Because if you ever meet her again, you're not going to let her get away from you ever again.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time you meet her, it's still a surprise, but this time you're determined to make things work in your favor.

The movie theater you're in is unusually deserted for a Saturday night, which you feel only gives you license to goof off more before the previews start rolling. Sam seems to be in complete agreement, as he keeps chucking kernels of popcorn at you from the other side of Quinn.

This whole outing was  _supposed_  to be a date between the two of them, a fact that still makes you giggle in smug satisfaction, but Quinn freaked out at the last second and invited you along. You have no problems being a third wheel, but you had opened your mouth to decline for Sam's sake when he had unexpectedly chimed in to echo the invitation. He had smiled sincerely enough that you were convinced he didn't mind, so you agreed. The look of mixed relief and chagrin on Quinn's face had been priceless.

You're in the middle of plotting an elaborate stealth attack that involves the remains of your slushy, a well-timed yawn, and Sam's right ear, when something makes the back of your neck prickle. It's not a bad feeling; more like the kind of tingles you'd get as a kid when you'd pretend to fall asleep on the couch and wait for your little sister to sneak-attack hug you.

Doing your best to be subtle about it, you sneak a look over your left shoulder - and encounter nothing but empty seats. You pout a little in confusion, but quickly shrug it off when yet another popcorn kernel is torpedoed directly at the back of your head. You turn around to glare ferociously at Sam, and then giggle when Quinn gives his leg a sharp smack. He just chuckles, rubs his thigh, and sneaks a quick peck on her cheek. Your giggle only grows as you watch your best friend turn bright red.

After you and Sam have called a temporary truce (that you fully intend to break by means of a slushy wet-willy in the very near future) the tingle comes back. This time you take a peek over your right shoulder, and nearly choke on your straw when you see Officer Lopez, crammed into the very last seat in the very back row in the far corner.

She's focused intently on something in her lap, so you're pretty sure she hasn't seen you yet, despite all the fuss you and Sam have been making. You whip back around and sink down into your seat, so that only the top of your head would be visible from behind. Quinn looks at you curiously as you try to calm yourself. You're not sure why you're freaking out, considering all the planning and plotting and fantasizing over this very woman you've been doing for the past two months. Just yesterday Quinn had to talk you down from going back to the police station, convinced as you were that you would never see her again.

You jerk your head back in Lopez' general direction, and hiss at Quinn when she makes a big show of turning to see what you're hiding from.

"Oh my God, Britt. Is that  _her?_ "

"Wow Quinn, say that a little louder. I don't think they heard you in Japan."

You glare at her from your slouched position. She's just sitting there and staring. Finally, when she shows no signs of moving, you hiss at her again and tug her arm. She rights herself in her seat and looks at you with wide eyes.

"What? Did she see us? Oh my God, is she leaving?"

You're about to lurch out of your chair when Quinn lays a restraining hand across your chest.

"No Britt, you're fine, she's just sitting there."

You frown at her, a little annoyed that she made you panic over nothing.

"Well what then? What's that face for?"

She takes another quick look over her shoulder, like she's trying to confirm something.

"It's just...I know you said she was really hot, but  _wow._  Brittany, she is  _gorgeous._ "

"Who we talkin' 'bout?"

Sam cuts in; noticing your hushed tones, he's lowered his own to match, and is hunching over low in his seat to catch your eye around Quinn's front.

Quinn looks at Sam and snorts at his attempt to be sneaky. He's about as subtle as you are (which is to say, not at all).

"You know that cop Brittany has been obsessing over? The one who arrested her about two and a half months ago?"

Your cheeks burn slightly at the memory while Sam nods in recognition.

"Well she's sitting over there."

"What! Where?"

Sam whips his head around wildly and you and Quinn both snarl at him to quiet down. He apologizes and slouches nearly as deep into his chair as you have.

He leans over to grin at you and offers you a fist bump.

"Dude. Niiiiice."

You can't help but grin back at him. Sam's a good bro. You're glad he's your friend.

Quinn just stares down at you expectantly.

"Well?"

You glance up at her before dropping your eyes back down to your knees.

"Well, what?"

"Brittany. Go  _talk_ to her for heaven's sake."

You swallow thickly, all of your previous excitement turning to nerves in an instant. You want so badly to just waltz over there and sweep her off her feet - you're practically built to, as a dancer - but it's just occurred to you that you never got her name. She never gave it to you, more importantly.

"What if she like, doesn't want me to?"

You don't like how sad and small your voice sounds, but it's how you feel at the thought.

Quinn snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Did she, or did she not treat you far more kindly than she had any reason to at the precinct?"

You perk up a little at that.

"She did."

"Mhmm. And did she, or did she not apologize _to you_  for her behavior at the club, despite the fact that you were the one dancing with her admittedly horrid ex-girlfriend?"

"Hey, I-"

"Answer the question."

By now you're sitting up straight, though it's mostly because of your need to defend yourself. You sigh heavily, but can't hide the little smile as you respond.

"She did."

"Quite right, she did. And did she, or did she not kiss you back when you kissed her.  _Twice._ "

Your smile has turned into a full-blown grin by now, and with it your confidence has returned.

"She did."

"I'd say the lady is willing, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I would."

"Well, then..."

She makes a shooing motion and you straighten your clothes out, brushing off any remaining bits of Sam's attacks, before standing and turning to face Lopez. Just as you do, the lights of the theater dim, signalling the beginning of the movie. The bright screen lights up the room just enough so that you can see she's still concentrating on whatever she has in her lap.

As smoothly and quietly as possible, you make your way to the back row and slide in until there's only a few seats between the two of you. If you squint hard enough, you can see the bag she's holding between her legs is a king size pouch of Skittles. You watch as she carefully plucks out two of each color Skittle, before tossing the handful in her mouth. Once she's finished chewing, she starts the process again. Finally, unable to contain yourself any more, you close the distance between you, quickly slipping in the seat immediately to her left, and speak quietly to catch her attention.

"What are you doing?"

She jumps at the sound of your voice and you can see by the flickering light of the screen that her eyes are wide with surprise. You think you catch a little tiny smile before she lets her face fall blank and returns her attention to the candy. She glances at you suspiciously from the corner of her eye before responding.

"What d'you mean? What's it look like I'm doing?"

She demonstrates her point by pressing yet another perfectly constructed fistful past her lips. You think it's good that the theater is so dark, because now you're staring at those lips with a level of concentration that is probably not okay outside of a doctor's office.  _Or the bedroom_ ,your mind offers helpfully. You're almost proud of how steady your voice is when you speak again.

"I know, but why do you have to make such a production of it? Can't you just reach in and grab a handful?"

You grin to show you're teasing. She quirks an eyebrow back at you, and her cheek dimples a little when she smirks. You try to ignore the flutter it causes in your tummy and focus on listening to her answer. Her voice is low, whether out of respect for your location or just out of habit you're not sure, but the deep rasp sends a thrill up your spine.

"I want two of each. I'm very equanimous in my sweets consumption."

You can't help the dorky smile that splits your face. She notices it and frowns at you, though you can tell she's trying not to smile back. You continue to watch as she folds up the rest of the Skittles in the pouch before shoving the whole thing in her pocket.

"You're adorable, is what you are."

She snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Christ."

You laugh at that. Still so tough, even when she's sitting in a theater eating candy.

"I'm sorry, but you are."

"So you say."

"Yes. I do."

You think it must be the confidence of your statement that catches her off guard, because she's back to staring at you wide-eyed. A thought occurs to you that makes you stiffen. Despite the darkness of the theater, she notices.

"What's wrong?"

"Uhm..I probably should have asked before I sat down, but are you...are you here with someone?"

She looks...relieved? You're not sure, but you know that's how you feel when she shakes her head.

"No, just me tonight."

"Good."

She watches you carefully, but says nothing else.

Keeping her gaze, you lean in a little closer, your heart pounding as the same scent that's been clinging to your jacket for the past few weeks invades your senses again. She licks her lips nervously, and you break contact for a moment to watch, before returning your eyes to hers.

"I'm Brittany, by the way."

"I know."

"You do?"

That takes you a little by surprise.

"Yeah, from that night...at the station? I remember..."

You smile again at that. She remembers your name after all this time.

"Well, should I just keep calling you Officer Lopez? 'Cause, kinky."

You can't tell for sure, but you think maybe the way her cheeks look a little darker means she's blushing. Just  _adorable._

"Uhm, no, sorry. Santana. My name is Santana."

"Santana."

You like that. It suits her. It's almost as pretty as she is. You tell her so, and she snorts again, but you know by the quirk of her lips that she's pleased. Speaking of lips...

"Hey Santana."

"Hey Brittany."

You try to hide the little shudder hearing your name in her voice produces, and fail spectacularly. You'd like to hear it again. Soon.

"Santana, I'd like very much to kiss you right now, if that's okay with you."

You watch as she searches your face for a moment, then nods. Without any hesitation, you lean in and capture her bottom lip, massaging it with your lips and tongue. When she moans low in her throat and shifts her head for a better position, you let her tongue slide gently into your mouth, and the sensation sends your head reeling. It's not quite as slow as the last time you kissed. There's need there, a sense of give and take that has your stomach in knots and your pulse dropping to that point between your legs in a dull, searing throb.

After a few moments of what is quite possibly the most magical make-out session you have  _ever_  experienced, you move your kisses across her jaw and down to her neck. You cradle your right hand against the back of her neck and let your left skim lightly along the skin of her arm where it sits on the armrest between you. Your fingertips skate up and over the thin cotton of her sleeve and dance across her collarbone. As you slide your lips across her throat to nip at her pulsepoint, your hand lays flat against her chest, absorbing the rapid thud-thud of her heart.

You smile against her skin when she tips her chin back to give you free range, and it only grows when a particularly hard suck draws out a vibrating moan from her throat. You want so badly to feel her, all of her, but dimly you know that this isn't the time. Or place.

You're about to pull away a strong hand presses over your own where it covers her heartbeat, and slowly drags it down until it's cupping a perfectly full breast. You gasp when the hand over yours squeezes, pressing the already stiffened peak of a nipple into your palm, and she echoes with a little whimper when your fingers reflexively squeeze again. Taking this as encouragement to continue, you fasten your mouth over hers just in time to swallow another low moan as your thumb begins to circle around the same pebbled tip your palm had cradled a moment before.

You nibble at her bottom lip before invading her mouth with your tongue, brushing against the satin heat demandingly. You switch to her other breast, not wanting it to be left out. She whimpers again as you pinch her other nipple through her bra and t-shirt, drawing out the noise with a gentle tug.

Without even thinking about it, your hand begins to drift lower, smoothing over the ripples and flutters of her stomach. Your hand slides down between her legs to press into the seam of her jeans, and the heat you find there coupled with the loud groan she lets out jolt you back into your senses. You yank your hand back and rip yourself from her lips in a flash, horrified by your own forwardness.

"God, Santana, I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"You stopped."

You look up at her and your tummy flip-flops at her messy appearance. You must have been running your fingers through her hair without realizing it, because her perfect curls are all mussed, and even in the dark you can see that she's breathing fast and heavy. You drop your eyes back to your own lap, where your hands are pressed firmly between your legs, against your own molten desire. Your face flames as you remember the slow burn your fingers found in her.

"I- yeah. I just...You're so unbelievably beautiful and I was convinced I'd never see you again, and then here you are, letting me kiss you and touch you and God your boobs are _perfect_  and I just kind of los-"

"But you stopped."

You dare another glance at her, and your want flares at the lazy grin on her half-shadowed face. You answer with a timid smile of your own.

"Should uhm...should I not have?"

"Well it's kind of rude, don't you think? I mean, where's your sense of follow-through?"

The teasing in her voice is obvious, but you almost miss it anyways, lost as you are in the scorching hunger in her eyes.

Without another word you fling yourself back at her, pulling her in for a bruising kiss that starts all teeth and lips but eventually eases into an unhurried duel between your tongue and hers. Your hand finds her breasts again, toying with each nipple, circling and squeezing and tugging indiscriminately until she's practically whining into your mouth. Satisfied, you let your hand drift once more down her stomach, marveling at the tight muscles under your touch. You rub over the crotch of her jeans once, twice, three times before moving back up to finger the button keeping them closed.

You hesitate briefly, and she must notice (you're a little impressed because you could have sworn her entire attention was focused on making you lose your mind using only her lips, tongue, and teeth). She pulls away slightly so she can meet your eyes, and the look in hers blazes a path through you that has you shuddering with barely contained need.

"Brittany."

The sound of your name in her smoky, lust-roughened voice sends another violent thrill up your spine.

"Y-yeah?"

"What do you want?"

The question catches you by surprise, and you have to take a moment to gather your thoughts from where they've scattered into the four corners of the world. A huge explosion burns across the movie screen and makes you startle in surprise. Your hand, which had been resting over the fly of her pants, jerks and presses forcefully into her heat again. Her eyelids flutter slightly as her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head, and the sight of her pleasure spurs you to rub again.

Her lips part and she bucks ever so slightly into your hand. It's so incredibly sexy, you almost can't stand it.

"I want to feel you. All of you."

You emphasize your words with another rough massage of your fingers, drawing out a shaking moan.

"God yes _._  Please, Brittany."

All thoughts of hesitation desert you at the sound of her plea. You quickly free the button of her jeans and with a twitch of your wrist, her fly is open too, revealing simple black cotton panties. You run your fingers over the elastic waistband for a moment before dipping down to continue stoking the heat at her center. Your knuckles catch slightly on her zipper as you cause the damp spot on her panties to spread with slow, even strokes. Her head lolls back onto the seat and you can see in the dim light that her fingers have gone white at the joints from clutching the armrests so tightly. When you feel her jerk into your hand again, you smirk and press a little harder.

"Bri...Britt...Brittany. God,  _Brittany._ "

Her voice is barely more than a harsh whisper now, but you can practically feel the need it carries. Not wanting to torture her any longer, you swiftly guide your hand under the cotton material and through the soft patch of curls beneath it, and touch her slick heat directly for the first time.

Her hips fly off the seat of the chair when you first encounter the hard bud, and she chokes on a hoarse groan. You circle the bud a few times, taking care not to touch it entirely. You want this to last, but she's so sensitive already. Your fingers slip against an overwhelming amount of wetness, and the thought that it's all for you makes your head spin a bit.

Her breath is coming in little pants now, and her eyes are clenched shut against the pleasure. You want to be able to see her during this next part, so you still your hand and whisper her name until her eyelids flit back open. You catch her heavy-lidded gaze immediately and hold it.

With perfect aim, your middle finger slides through her folds and sinks to the last knuckle into her deepest parts.

Her mouth drops open again and her lashes flutter in time with the muscles clenching around your finger. You work it in and out easily, occasionally brushing your thumb along side her clit to cause another flex of muscle.

When you add a second finger, her ass leaves the chair again, and you have to pin her back down with your free hand braced against quivering abs.

When you add a third finger, matched with your thumb bearing down roughly on her clit, her eyes go wide and unseeing and her jaw works around a soundless scream. The silky walls surrounding your fingers clench almost painfully, holding them in place, so you press long, slow strokes against the hard nub of pleasure as it twitches under your thumb.

With all the gentle tenderness you can muster, you bring her back down, pumping slowly a few more times until finally she releases you and you can draw your hand back out.

She watches through glassy eyes as you lick her off each of your fingers with deliberate care, moaning quietly at her taste, and your lips curve into a smile around your finger as she shakes with tiny aftershocks. The pulse between your thighs is still heavy and hot, but it's not an overwhelming need anymore, so you catch her hand and squeeze it gently when she moves to reach for your waistband.

"What-"

"I told you, I just wanted to feel you. Besides, I at least want dinner first before...anything else."

You keep your voice light and hope she understands. You don't want this to be a one-time thing. You want this to be a many-times thing. In fact, you're pretty sure even now that you want this to be a for-the-rest-of-your-life thing, but that little thought you just keep locked firmly in the back of your mind.

Her eyes narrow calculatingly as she searches your face, and it makes your heart spasm a little. You're about to explain when she leans in and gives you a quick but thorough kiss.

When she pulls back, she has a sly smirk that makes your heart skip again, but this time in excitement.

"You're not innocent at all, are you? I'll bet you planned this whole thing. You're just a fucking  _sexy_  evil genius and I've gone and fallen right into your trap."

You offer her a giant grin and a casual shrug.

"Guilty."


End file.
